


Lead Me to the Light

by crutchie_394



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Medda is an amazing mom, Modern Era, Protectiveness, and there may be other kids in this if i continue it, jack is fifteen but he's technically a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17711024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crutchie_394/pseuds/crutchie_394
Summary: Jack was fifteen. It had been five years, one month, two weeks, and four days since he’d seen Snyder and the Refuge, and he’d wanted to keep it that way. Living with Medda felt like the perfect reality he never thought he would have. It was bliss, it was safety, it was comfort.But all good things had to come to a close.~~~Jack never gets his happy endings.





	Lead Me to the Light

**Author's Note:**

> no updating our current wips, we start brand new ones in the middle of the night
> 
> this is the hill i've chosen to die on
> 
> this is different from The Spider's Return, I know the tags are pretty similar but I swear it's a different story. thanks for supporting me and my trash, y'all, love you guys!

It was quiet.

Usually, when it was quiet, it meant Jack was upstairs in his room, painting and listening to music. He tended to get lost in his thoughts, so it didn’t surprise Medda by any means when she set her keys down and called for him without an answer.

The clock read that it was past midnight, reminding Medda that her show had run late and her eyes were fighting to close for the night. She dropped her bag on the dining room table and made her way up the stairs, passing her room in favor of going to Jack’s. Her sore feet could wait a few more minutes to make sure her boy wouldn’t be inhaling paint fumes all night.

Jack’s door was closed, and Medda couldn’t hear any music drifting through the wall. She smiled to herself and mentally crossed her fingers that Jack was asleep. He didn’t get enough of that and it was always a victory to come home to see him passed out on the couch, a re-run of Bob Ross filling the silence.

She opened the door a little and was met with a dark room. Jack’s bed was unmade and the covers were kicked down to the foot of the bed. His easel was sitting untouched. The window was open slightly, which was a habit Jack had gotten into when he’d started to climb out on the roof for fresh air at night.

“Jack?” she said, shuffling into the room. “Honey, where are you?"

Maybe he was in her room? She went for the door, but she was stopped by the first sign that someone had been there in the hours she’d been at work. A sticky note, stuck on the wall next to the easel. Her eyes scanned the messy chicken scratch.

_went to race’s house_

_I love you_

The note got messier as it went on, as if it had been scribbled out in a hurry. Medda shook her head fondly and threw it in the trash on her way out. She trusted Jack not to get in _too_ much trouble on a Friday night.

~  
  
Jack was fifteen. It had been five years, one month, two weeks, and four days since he’d seen Snyder and the Refuge, and he’d wanted to keep it that way. Ever since Medda had swooped down like an angel sent from heaven and brought him home. Living with her felt like the perfect reality he never thought he would have. It was bliss, it was safety, it was comfort.

But all good things had to come to a close.

He was sitting at his easel, staring at the blank canvas in front of him. He had music playing through his phone, and it was just him and the paintbrush he was drumming against his thigh.

He dipped the brush into the blue paint, but as he reached up to make his first stroke, he heard a thump in the hallway outside his room. He chalked it up to the house settling until he heard another, as if heavy footsteps were headed towards him.

“Medda?” he said. He put his brush down and heaved himself up, rubbing his eyes as he moved over to the door. What time was it? “I thought you weren’t gonna be back for ano-”

It wasn’t Medda’s warm brown eyes that met his when he opened the door. The ones he saw were steel-grey and dull, but lit up with fire at the same time. They sent Jack reeling back from the door.  His vision tunneled, and suddenly the only thing he could see was the sinister grin spreading across Snyder’s face.

“Hello, Jack.” The man himself stepped through the door, hands clasped behind his back as if he’d been invited in for a cup of coffee. Jack didn’t reply, still stumbling away as if an invisible rope was trying to keep him safe.

Snyder raised an eyebrow, and for every step Jack took back, he took one forward. “That’s no way to greet your _old man_ , is it?” he sneered. The smile on his face was still growing, as if Christmas had come early. “I’m the closest you’ve ever had. Isn’t that right, Jack?”

Jack didn’t know how to respond, or if he should at all. For some reason, even through his panic, he could remember Snyder doing this when he’d been stuck in the Refuge. He would make it seem like there was no way around answering him, like Snyder was the one in the right and Jack just needed to get his mouth under control and answer him. _Answer, dammit. Say something. Don’t look scared, don’t -_

“You wish you could take credit for a face like this, huh?”

He shouldn’t have said that. Snyder’s smile disappeared. His strides became longer - _how big was this room?_ \- until he was in Jack’s face and Jack’s back was against the wall.

“I guess that woman never did manage to shut your mouth, did she?” Jack’s jaw tightened, and he prayed to whoever was up there that Synder wouldn’t bring Medda into this. That wouldn’t end well for either of them. “I guess I’ll have to do it for her. I hoped she could handle you herself.” Snyder clicked his tongue and shook his head like a disappointed father. “Clearly not.”

“What’re you -” Jack started to say, but he was suddenly cut off with a rough hand slamming over his mouth. His knees buckled in surprise, and Snyder held him still with a rough hand on the back of his shirt. He leaned closer and lowered his voice.

“Write a note for her. Tell her you’re fine, that you’ll be gone all night. My men can handle things from there.” Jack opened his mouth behind the hand. “If you don’t, you won’t be the last of your friends I find.”

How did he know who his friends were? Had he been watching him? _Why was he here in the first place?_ This was all going to hell so fast, but Jack nodded. He didn’t see anything else to do. Satisfied, Snyder released his hand and shoved Jack away. He stepped away and stood by the door, like a guard dog waiting to pounce, and crossed his arms. “Then do it.”

Jack nodded again and stumbled over to his desk. He pulled out a sticky note and scribbled the first thing he could, knowing it wouldn’t matter in the long run. He always texted Medda when he was going somewhere, and she be suspicious. She would find him.

_went to race’s house_

_I love you_

He hesitated, pencil poised over the paper, then quickly flipped it over and scribbled a “snyder” on the back. He chucked the pencil back on his desk and stuck the note on the wall next to his easel, which he’d been sitting at less than ten minutes ago. This was all happening fast enough to make his head spin, but before he could get his bearings, Snyder came over to read his hasty note. Then, he grabbed Jack’s wrists and replaced the hand over his mouth.

“If you have your phone, I’ll kill you,” he said. Jack got the shuddering feeling he wasn’t joking. “Let’s go, boy. We haven’t got all night.”

Jack felt like he was supposed to be fighting back. He should have been prying Snyder’s hand off his face and wrestling until his arms were free, but he was paralyzed with shock and fear. It was as if neither his flight nor his fight instincts were kicking in. It was just him, letting himself be dragged down the hall and the stairs, and eventually, to the door of the house. There was a crowbar laying on the table, and Snyder grabbed it as they left. How had Jack not heard someone breaking into the house?  

The bitter wind hit his face as they left the house, and Jack caught up to reality. There was a black car sitting on the curb. The keys were still in the ignition, and he could tell Snyder had meant to be in and out fast.

Snyder opened the back door of his car, and Jack stepped in with a forceful shove. It felt a little funny. He was getting _kidnapped,_ and here he was, letting Snyder bring him to his car like he was just going for a leisurely drive around the neighborhood. He felt like a five-year-old that had to be told not to take candy from strangers.

“Comfortable?” Snyder said. Jack stared at him. Snyder laughed, a deep rumbling in his throat that sounded like a growl, and slammed the door so hard that the window shook. He walked around to the driver’s seat and got in, then turned around to face Jack. There was some sort of half-wall separating them.  

“The ride might get a little bumpy, Kelly,” he said. He pushed a button above his head, and a screen slid up from the wall. It divided them completely, and it was so dark outside and in the car that it enveloped Jack in almost complete darkness. That wasn’t the first thing he was worried about, though. It was the jolt of the car starting that sent a stab of fear through his heart for the first time.

Jack was fifteen. It had been five years, one month, two weeks, and four days since he’d seen Snyder and the Refuge, but bliss and safety couldn’t always last.

**Author's Note:**

> highkey snyder is a bigger criminal than the kids he puts in prison
> 
> let me know if you guys want me to continue this! also let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, what you might want to see, or what other kind of stuff you guys want me to write. please i'm desperate for validation, go nuts in the comment section.
> 
> thanks for reading! have an amazing day and pet a cute dog today


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